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Sunday, June 19, 2011

My dad, Jerry Farrar, with one of the many grandchildren he laughed with -- my son Nick

Every Father’s Day the newspapers fill with stories of fathers – living and dead – who led heroic lives. Memoirs appear front and center in bookstore windows of fathers who had overwhelming influence over their children because their lives were extreme role models for the good or for the bad. Talk shows fill the airwaves with stories of fathers we could only dream of because they were über creative or Robin Williams-funny or tragic. And we are left to momentarily mourn because we were not blessed with a father whose story would ever be worthy of a piece in The New Yorker.

Here’s to the dads who drove five hours each way to make sure that the oil in your car was changed according to schedule while you were at college.

Here’s to the dads who, after a pre-air conditioning commute in 90º summers, loaded the softball equipment into the station wagons without even eating dinner to coach your team year after year because no one else wanted to volunteer.

Here’s to the dads who picked you up and tossed you across the swimming pool two dozen times without complaint because you spluttered and spit water and laughed “Do it again! Do it again!”

Here’s to the dads who taught you to ride a bike and mow the lawn and let you keep a pet chicken one summer and brought home the most beautiful dog even though Mom and the doctor said you were allergic and should under no circumstances even consider it.

Here’s to the dads who asked year after year “Are you sure you don’t want to take a business class or two?” when you signed up for classes in music theory, Protestant Reformation history, and Irish literature.

Here’s to the dads who didn’t yell when you jumped in the pile of leaves they had just finished raking.

Here’s to the dads who grilled but didn’t cook.

Here’s to the dads who sat through orchestra concerts, basketball games, and talent shows again and again for all the school years of multiple kids.

Here’s to the dads who were world-class role models for learning because they took you to the library every Monday night after dinner.

Here’s to the dads who made sure you knew life was not complete without baseball season – winning or losing, it didn’t matter.

Here’s to the dads who walked daughters down the aisle or prepared sons to take that step.

Here’s to the dads who knew the best way to connect with a grandchild was to chuckle from deep in his belly as his oversized tweed driving cap slipped down over tiny eyes and ears until only the button nose and the laughing mouth were all that remained visible.

Here’s to the dads who raised you to work hard and lend a hand when necessary and remember that family comes first.

Here’s to the dads who are far from perfect, but who show up every day for the job.

My favorite father, my husband Brad, with Nick and Tonya in front of Catherine the Great's gold carriage
at the Hermitage in St. Petersburg on his first day of being a father

Who I am right now

I’m a Midwesterner who’s developed a desire for change as a woman reaching her midlife point. I still suck at French, but I’m working on it. I take thousands of photos (hooray, digital cameras!) but don’t always know what I’m doing. And I’m starting to write again. My goal is to keep moving in as many ways as I can until my time is up. Why don’t you join me?